[au] an early snow

[the_seafarer]

It's only mid-autumn, as the Bar-year reckons, but one morning Caspian wakes early to find that the light coming through his window has that particular muted quality to it that only comes from sifting through clouds and a veil of snow.

And snow it is indeed, when he comes outside: it crunches pleasantly beneath his boots as his breath freezes in the air and his cheeks turn pink with the cold. Snow; and still it falls, silent and light.

He heads to the stables with the intention of finishing his chores quickly so he can let the horses out to frolic in it, whistling as he goes.

Comments

[the_seafarer]

He smiles to see her, and the rich purple of the violets as well.

"When I see you in my mind's eye in Mejis," he says, "riding on the Drop, I see you surrounded by wildflowers."

[sai_delgado]

She looks up at him, smiling. “Thee aren’t wrong. Especially in the spring, but also in summer, all through.”

[the_seafarer]

"Beautiful," he says, smiling.

"We would find pockets of flowers in the deep woods, sometimes. Especially snowdrops, near the end of winter. That was always a cheery surprise."

[sai_delgado]

“Aye, I’d well imagine it,” she laughs, as she stands. “And the first signs of Wide Earth to come, too.”

[the_seafarer]

"Wide Earth," he says, helping her up. "Spring?"

[sai_delgado]

Susan nods. “Between winter and sowing,” she tells him. “Early spring, as things are here.”

[the_seafarer]

"Wide Earth," he muses, as they walk along the stream bank. "A good name for it. When everything begins opening back up again."

[sai_delgado]

"Aye," she says, simply. "When all the brown starts greening, and the world's more than it were."

[the_seafarer]

"A sensible name," he agrees. If she feels a pang at the thought of harvest-time, he feels one when he thinks of spring – but it is an old, old ache these days. "Did you have a name for the summer season as well?"

[sai_delgado]

“It’s more that the seasons were divided,” she explains. “Into what agreed with the growing times.”

Susan squeezes his hand and then drops it to count off on her fingers as she recites, “Winter, Wide-Earth, Sowing, Mid-Summer, Full-Earth, Reaping —“

Oh, and there’s that slight shiver again; she can’t seem to help it, but continues,

“—and Year’s End, each with its own Fair Day, too.”

[the_seafarer]

He puts a hand on her back, a little concerned by that shiver.

"Are you cold, Su?"

[sai_delgado]

“Hm?” She blinks at him in surprise, but then realization hits and she shakes her head.

“Nay, I’m not cold. It were only the thought. It’s harder of late, because of the season, that’s all - but I’m fine,” she assures him.

[the_seafarer]

"The season?" His concern abates, but his uncertainty grows.

"Why's that?"

[sai_delgado]

“It’s - it’s fin de año, she tells him, softly. “Reaptide’s near, and Reap Night to follow. It’s what the people here call Hallowe’en, I wot.”

This time the shiver is more like a shudder, although she tries hard to hide it now.

[the_seafarer]

"Su," he says, a little alarmed, and puts his arm around her back to comfort her, drawing her near.

"Whatever it is, we needn't talk about it now, if it distresses you."

[sai_delgado]

She turns into the circle of his arm, into his embrace, and leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Susan lets her gaze wander over the spring-green grass and flowers as she murmurs,

“Say sorry, Caspian. I didn’t mean to upset thee. We needn’t speak of it, if thee’d wish it so. It’s such a pretty day.”

[the_seafarer]

"You haven't," he promises, putting his other arm around her and holding her closer. "I only worry for you, dear."

He knows and knows well that life isn't always the happiness he wishes for her, and he knows too that she's witnessed and felt tragedy and heartbreak, that she was taken from her world too young, hardly having lived at all.

But it doesn't stop him wishing. "It is a pretty day. But whenever you're ready, Su, pretty day or no, I'll listen. If you like."

[sai_delgado]

“Thee should know,” she murmurs. “Before the day comes. But—“

Would it be easier? For him to hear it now, like a quick, clean cut, rather than draw it out to another time and leave him wondering?

Susan thinks of her father, and what he’d advise her, and gathers her courage in both hands.

“Mayhap we could find somewhere to sit,” she suggests. “By the water?”

[the_seafarer]

"Yes, of course."

He presses a kiss to her hair and loosens his embrace to let her go, though he stays close. "There's a likely spot, over there in the sunlight."

[sai_delgado]

She reaches for his hand and draws him with her toward the place he’s spotted, then down to sit beside her on the soft grass.

Susan squeezes his hand and smiles at him, as reassuringly as she can.

“Do’ee have harvest festivals in Narnia?”

[the_seafarer]

"Aye," he answers, readily enough though he has some misgivings. "'Tis always a celebration of the end of the season and the gifts of the fields. Depending on where you were in the country, it might last a day or a week."

[sai_delgado]

“That much is the same, mayhap,” she muses, almost distantly.

(life to yer crop)

“Celebrations and dancing and all sorts of things, say true.”

[the_seafarer]

"Yes," he says, though there's none of his usual delight in telling her of his home. "There were often competitions for the handsomest crops and the best foods. We would press the apples from the castle orchard into cider."

The way he watches her, it's clear he expects the footing to drop out from beneath him at any moment. "Roasted apples and nuts and the like. It was a busy time but a merry one."

[sai_delgado]

The concern in his eyes causes an answering pang in her heart. Susan reaches up with her free hand to cradle his cheek, her touch warm, trying to remind him she's here with him as she tells him what she has to, now.

"Aye, it were merry, I wot. It were in Mejis too, once, save for the rumors and traditions handed down from older times. Darker times."

(the ways of the old ones were the ways of death)

She draws a careful breath and lets it out, then finishes, as gently as she can,

"And save for nearly a year ago now, when the witch Rhea, Rhea of the Coos, led the people of Hambry to burn me on the Reap-Night bonfire."

(charyou tree)

[the_seafarer]

It's so shocking that it takes a moment for what she's saying to sink in, but when it does the surprise and concern in his eyes shifts, first to horror, then to anguish. "My god," he says, aghast beyond all possible words. "Su – "

But what is there to say? Nothing. It clogs in his chest and his throat as though someone has ripped his voice from him.

(She feels so real. She feels so alive and warm, her hand gentle at his cheek, her eyes on his. But in the end, they are both ghosts, are they not? Ghosts who only remember what it was to live and breathe and age and hurt. And die.)

And the look in her eyes – the very knowledge that she is, in this moment, concerned for him takes his breath utterly away. Tenderly, he lifts his hand to take hers from his cheek, to press her fingers between his palms. "I'm so sorry, Su," he says, low. "Dear one, I am so sorry."